Since the COVID-19 pandemic has halted our nomadic adventures, we have to rely on reliving our travels through photos and rapidly-dimming memories. Fortunately, Facebook is determined to remind you of events that happened years ago, even if you’d like to forget them.
For example, we were just reminded of our first “bump in the road,” so to speak, with our motorhome. It happened five years ago at Emerald Lake Naturist Resort in Porter, Texas and apparently one of us posted about it on Facebook.
We were a month into our first full-time RV journey and the first leg of our Grand Tour of America’s nudist places. We’d spent the previous three weeks zigzagging across the vast state of Texas, dodging violent springtime weather, before stopping for ten days at Emerald Lake.
Actually, when we arrived, we didn’t so much stop as blow right by the easily-missed entrance gate. You aren’t very nimble when you’re driving a 34-foot motorhome and towing a car, so we had to continue a few blocks before finding a parking lot large enough for us to turn around.
Back at the gate, we were glad we had also disconnected the car because we never would have made the tight corner with it attached. It was still pretty tight, but I squeezed our home through.
Tucked behind this gate was a compact slice of green in a heavily-developed suburban area. The rectangular, ten-acre lake filled an abandoned quarry and took up most of the space. Permanent mobile homes and trailers lined one side of the lake. The campground and RV sites were at the east end, and in between was a pool and small hotel.
We had to maneuver carefully through tall pine trees to get to our site, but once we settled in it was time to relax. Which meant:
- Getting naked and chilling on the lake’s little beach.
- Getting naked and watching the sunset from the hot tub.
- Getting naked and attempting to fish the lake (no luck).
- Getting naked and socializing with new Texas friends.
You may see a pattern. I also swam out naked to the floating sun deck in the lake a few times until Julie, who had lived in Texas, mentioned snapping turtles.
When it was time to leave, we decided that rather than back out the way we came in, it would be easier to pull our motorhome straight ahead. Then we just needed to make a careful turn to the left and out to the gate. Easy peasy.
Julie guided me forward, using the hand signals we had worked out together since we started RVing. I had to creep slowly, watching her signals and keeping an eye in the sideview mirrors for the pine tree trunks which were really close. Then a couple on onlookers volunteered to help by waving their arms as well.
Now I appreciate anytime someone offers to help guide me while I’m moving the RV. I really do. But if you’re ever involved in this process, here’s the thing you should know: Only one person should be directing the driver, and the driver should only have to watch that one person.
I had three.
But the other two didn’t matter because I was watching Julie. Except, because of some miscommunication, she thought I was watching one of the other guys, and dropped her hands to her sides. I thought I was good to keep moving forward, and I was, until I felt a bump from the right rear. At that moment, a woman watching us clasped her hands to her face in horror.
I put on the emergency brake, jumped out and ran to the back. From the woman’s shocked expression I fully expected to see a nudist’s pet cat, or maybe the nudist himself, lodged under our motorhome. Instead, I had clipped a power pedestal that had fit perfectly in my blind spot. Whether the other two men were trying to warn me with their own brand of hand signals, I’ll never know. I was watching Julie.
We were sick to our stomachs. Our new-to-us motorhome had a boo boo. A smudge of green paint from the power pedestal lead down the right rear fender which was cracked in several places. Thankfully the tail lights still worked.
Ray, the manager and (hopefully still) a new friend, was trying to straighten the power pedestal which would probably need to be replaced. I offered to pay for it but he told me not too worry.
We taped up the damage and left the resort in a tense and intimidated mood, but as we got on our way toward our next destination, Indian Hills Nudist Park in Slidell, Louisiana, we finally lightened up. The damage was minimal and only affected a fiberglass part. We could still drive the RV and continue on our journey.
At Indian Hills, Julie put her skills to work with some body filler putty and paint, and soon enough we had completely forgotten about the incident. Until Facebook decided today that we needed to remember it. Thanks a lot.